


Come To My Senses

by Aluxra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: Zenyatta and Hanzo's budding relationship shown through the five sensesWritten for the "Marked by Redemption" E-Zine from the people at theZanzoZine





	1. Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one: sight

He had made the trip to the medbay as brief as possible, brushing off the doctor’s questions with short, blunt answers in order to escape her assessment quickly. Stalking out of the medbay doors, he strode down the hallways searching for the monk who Genji doted on constantly. Hanzo had hardly paid attention to him since he had arrived, only knowing his name and a selection of his skills required on the field, but Hanzo knew he must also have a room somewhere in the facility.

Through a series of deductions based on the size of the Watchpoint, the areas that remained habitable, and the number of occupants around to use the available rooms, he stopped in front of the door that could only belong to the Omnic.

He drew his fist back and hammered on the door, the force reverberating up his arm.

‘Monk! I know you are in there! Come out and face me!’ he shouted, the throbbing in his hand matching the beat of his thundering heart. ‘Monk! I swear I will –’

The door slid open as he brought his hand down for another strike, his arm faltering half way through the swing and jerking back. He retreated from the doorway, where Zenyatta floated at eye level, sitting cross legged with his hands clasped in his lap, as if he were expecting friends instead of a fight.

‘Ah, greetings Hanzo,’ he said, and although his faceplate remained emotionless, Hanzo did not doubt he would be smiling. ‘I hope Doctor Ziegler’s assessment went well and that you are in good health?’

‘Do not mock me!’ Hanzo snarled, regaining his footing and his rage. ‘You had no right to interfere the way you did, today!’

‘Interfere?’ Zenyatta repeated, cocking his head in a curious, birdlike manner. ‘I do not recall an instance where I overstepped the boundaries of my responsibilities to the agents under my protection that would have impeded your own today.’

‘Doomfist! You stepped in between us when you had no right!’ Hanzo snarled.

‘Hanzo, it was my responsibility that every agent returned to the Watchpoint unharmed to the best of my ability,’ Zenyatta replied. The lights on his forehead flickered, as if with his thoughts. ‘Had I not stepped in, you would have come to great harm. He would have killed you.’

‘What does it matter?’ Hanzo demanded, throwing his arms up in an uncharacteristic burst of movement. ‘Either way it would not have affected you or anyone in this congregation of fools that have made their way here.’

Zenyatta studied Hanzo for a moment, before he spoke.

‘It would matter to more of us than you think. It would have mattered greatly to Genji,’ he said. ‘He would have been deeply saddened should something happen to you, and I would do all in my power to avoid that.’

Hanzo tensed, eyes narrowing into sharp slits, his hands curling into fists by his side. ‘You dare speak to me about Genji?’ he whispered darkly. ‘You dare to preach to me about his happiness and his wishes? You have overstepped your boundaries one too many times today, monk.’

‘Would you prefer I speak to you of your wishes?’ Zenyatta queried. He lifted his hands, steepling his fingers under his chin. ‘Perhaps you wish to speak of your desire to kill yourself in the midst of battle by another’s hand? Perhaps you wish to speak of how you believe this will bring you the redemption you seek? Perhaps you wish to speak of why you think your life is worth so much less than others that I would not step in to protect you.’

Hanzo stared at him in silent rage, at a loss for words. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palm.

Zenyatta shrugged. ‘You don’t hide your intentions, Hanzo. If you think I will not step in if you try to follow through with your intentions while under my protection, I imagine we will be having more of these talks in future.’

Hanzo snapped, drawing his fist back and driving it towards Zenyatta’s face.

A flash of golden light blinded him, his arm stopped short by a vice grip and twisted to an unnatural angle, pushing him to his knees with a yelp. He blinked the flashing spots from his vision as the light retreated, revealing Zenyatta looming over him, six pairs of glowing arms radiating from the middle of his back, the orbs of harmony and discord circling his head in a wide orbit.

Zenyatta glared down at him, the lights on his forehead pulsing like strobe lights.

‘Do not mistake my pacifism for a lack of combat experience,’ Zenyatta warned darkly, his voice devoid of the metallic twang that Hanzo was accustomed to when hearing him speak. ‘Do not mistake that protecting you means I will not defend myself against you.’

He calmed, the light and the arms fading from existence as he lowered himself to a more reasonable height. The hand on Hanzo’s arm remained, keeping it pulled back at a painful angle.

‘I respect all life, Hanzo,’ he explained. ‘I will protect it to the best of my ability. That includes your life. Perhaps, you should consider showing yourself that same respect.’

He released his hold on Hanzo. ‘If you allow me, I could help you.’

Hanzo blinked, snapping out of the frozen trance he had fallen into under Zenyatta’s wrath. He stumbled to his feet, holding his aching arm and retreating a few steps. His anger returned, though subdued.

‘I do  _ not _ need your help, monk.’

‘Then I suppose I shall be seeing you again.’

Hanzo gritted his teeth, staring at Zenyatta as if seeing him for the first time, before he turned and stalked away without another word, the sight of those six arms haloed in golden light remaining a burning imprint on his vision.


	2. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two: hearing/sound

Hanzo stumbled down the hallways, running without a clear destination.

His heart pounded in his ears, deafening him to his environment. He struggled for breath, panting like an injured dog. Cold sweat drenched his skin, his body shivering under his uniform.

He looked down at his trembling hands, his eyes widening at the sight of blood smeared across the palms. Panicked, he scrubbed them against his pant leg, trying to remove the stain.

The blood remained.

The roaring in his ears grew louder, splitting through his head: it was the roar of dragons unleashed, it was the roar of bloodlust and fury and blind righteousness, and then always, always, the screaming followed.

He burst into a run again, bracing himself against the walls when he stumbled. Rounding a corner, his knees gave way under him, and he crashed to the floor. The screaming continued, and he squeezed his eyes shut, slamming his hands over his ears, bracing himself against the wall. Still, the noise in his head wouldn’t stop, it would never stop, it would follow him until the day he died and even then, he would never know peace after what had happened, what he had done, how could he be so blind --?

‘Hanzo? Hanzo!’ A voice broke through the mantra circling his head, cutting through the screams. Golden light flared through the darkness behind his eyelids, and cool fingertips touched the back of his hands. ‘Hanzo, can you hear me?’

He moaned, curling over himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, his shoulder curled up to his ears. He couldn’t breathe, shivering down to his bones. Still, the noise in his head wouldn’t cease, bringing visions he did not want from the depths of his memory, relaying them over and over: the blood, the dragons, the roaring, the screaming.

‘Hanzo,’ the voice said, clearer this time, dampening the noise before it rose in a deafening crescendo—

A sharp, clear, pure chime rang through his head, reverberating around his skull and silencing all other noise. He gasped weakly in relief as another clear note followed, keeping the screams at bay.

‘Hanzo, breathe,’ the voice said, calm and soothing, a metallic twang rolling the end of his name. The gentle touch on the back of his hands became firmer, prying his hands away from his head. ‘You must breathe. Follow my rhythm.’

The notes played again slowly: Hanzo tried to copy them, only to fail, nearly hyperventilating.

‘I- I can’t,’ he said. His head swam, dizziness creeping in close behind.

‘Try again,’ the voice encouraged. He recognised it, unable to place it. ‘It doesn't matter how many times you try, it is okay to stutter, just keep trying to follow my rhythm. Breathe in.’

He tried again – tried several times, his lungs giving out half way each time – until he could pull in a deep breath. All the while, the notes rang through his head, enveloping him like the warm golden light accompanying them.

‘Hold… Exhale. Good, Hanzo.’ The praise made him shudder, and he twisted his hands to grab the ones holding him, squeezing his fingers tightly around their wrists, holding on to the only lifeline he felt. The soft voice continued to encourage his breathing to stabilise, the noise in his head slowly dwindling to silence.

Finally, he uncurled himself, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion, releasing his grip on his rescuer and dropping his hands to his lap. He tipped his head back against the wall, his eyes remaining closed as he continued to breathe in time to the melody ringing around him.

‘Hanzo, are you alright?’

‘I am better than I was,’ he answered, wishing nothing more than to fall asleep listening to the chimes and the voice murmuring gently in his ear. The identity of the voice evaded him still, yet it still did not trouble him enough to open his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

‘What happened?’

Hanzo winced, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

‘Breathe,’ the voice said quickly. ‘Breathe; whatever caused you pain can do so no longer.’

‘I am the one who causes pain,’ Hanzo whispered.

‘How so?’

Hanzo swallowed the taste of bile rising up his throat, and shook his head.  

‘You are still struggling with your past,’ the voice stated. ‘It is natural; the path of healing is not a straight one, without twists and turns. My student is still healing from what happened, even though he has had the time you have not.’

_ Student? _

_ Oh. _

_ Oh no. _

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open, staring up at Zenyatta’s face haloed in golden light. Around his neck, the orbs that he used in battle orbited him in a wide circle, bouncing synchronously as they lit up one after the other, ringing out with the clear, pure chime Hanzo had used to steady his breathing.

‘You.’

Zenyatta cocked his head to the side, his hands sitting in his lap. ‘Hanzo?’

‘You,’ Hanzo repeated, struggling for words. ‘You cannot be here! What are you doing here?’

‘I was on my way outside,’ Zenyatta explained. ‘It is a rather pleasant morning. I happened across you by chance, or perhaps by the will of the Iris.’

‘No,’ Hanzo stuttered, shaking his head. ‘You of all people should not see me like this, I will not tolerate --’

‘Hanzo, regardless of what you will or will not tolerate, I have already seen you,’ Zenyatta interrupted him. ‘I do not intend to use this knowledge to shame you. I wish to help.’

‘You can’t,’ Hanzo said, shaking his head. Realisation dawned on him, and his hand shot out to grab Zenyatta’s wrist.

‘You cannot tell a soul what you saw today,’ he hissed. ‘Not a word to anyone. Don’t you dare.’

‘I assure you, Hanzo, I will not,’ Zenyatta replied, reaching forward with his free hand to brush away the tears streaking down Hanzo’s cheeks. Perhaps it was the soothing aura of the Harmony Orb, but Hanzo believed him, and he sagged against the wall behind him, his eyes drifting shut. Around him, gentle chimes played through a golden haze, silencing the noises in his head.


	3. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part three: smell

Incense invaded his nose before he registered it, and he found himself back in the Hall of Dragons. A slashed, bloody tapestry rose up before him, towering over a gleaming sword with a chipped blade. Thin wisps of smoke curled in air in front of him, and he breathed in the woody tang as he clasped a feather between two fingers. Closing his eyes, he began to silently recite a prayer for the dead.

He blinked, his steps stumbling under him and he grabbed the nearest wall to steady himself. He looked around, recognising his location as the Watchpoint, and exhaled a heavy breath. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he searched for the origin of the pervasive scent that had caught him off guard, catching sight of the door less than a foot in front of him, sitting ajar.

Pushing himself away from the wall, he approached the door carefully as the smell of incense grew stronger. The room beyond the door gave no clues to the identity of the occupant, if there was one. Bracing his hand against it, the sleek, shiny metal cool under his palm, he slowly pushed it open.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, drawn to the figure sitting cross legged on the old, frayed rug in the middle of the room, golden orbs circling their bowed head.

Hanzo startled, drawing back; he glanced over his shoulder to the main corridor, considering slipping away before being discovered. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought of running away from Zenyatta, caught in a precarious limbo of indecision. His choice, in the end, was made for him when Zenyatta raised his head, and looked over his shoulder to face him.

Hanzo froze, and glanced away, avoiding Zenyatta’s eyes. Heat rose in his cheeks, his mind going blank of a reason for why he was invading an evidently private moment, recognising too late Zenyatta’s clasped hands in front of his chest and his bowed head over the burning incense were that of prayer.

‘I…’ Hanzo began, swallowing as the incense caught his throat in a vice-like grip. It made his eyes water, blurring the dim lights and the shadows of the room together, haloing the figure sitting in the centre of the floor. ‘What are you doing in here?’

He winced at the sound of his own voice, harsh and demanding in this small, secluded place. ‘I mean—'

Zenyatta cut him off gently. ‘Do not concern yourself with explanations, Hanzo. I understand it would be more expected of me to be in my own room to do this. However,’ he paused, looking down at the incense contemplatively. The soft golden glow from the orbiting spheres around his head flickered over his face, highlighting the scuffed, ragged scratches across the metal, like scars.

‘I find it difficult, sometimes,’ Zenyatta continued, drawing Hanzo’s attention away from the lines and ridges of his face. ‘To be surrounded by things from my life in Nepal, things that remind me of the others who I shared life with, while I was there.’

Hanzo tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he waited for Zenyatta to continue, to explain the uncharacteristic melancholy that radiated from him like his golden transcendence. The silence stretched between them, and Hanzo shifted his weight, glancing back out into the corridor as he considered how best to excuse himself. The smell of incense continued to wrap around him like a coiling snake, constricting his chest. When he looked back into the room, he startled to see Zenyatta’s gaze once again on him.

‘I sense discomfort in you, being here,’ Zenyatta said. ‘I apologise if I have contributed to your unease.’

‘You haven’t,’ Hanzo replied quickly. He shook his head, trying to clear the headiness of the incense from it just as much as he wished to deny Zenyatta’s assumptions. ‘I simply was not expecting anyone to burn incense. It surprised me, that is all.’

He paused, unsure why he felt the urge to speak his next words, yet he couldn’t swallow them down before they spilled across his lips in a rough whisper. ‘I used to burn incense for Genji, after… afterwards. I burnt it every year on his anniversary. When I smelt it just now, it reminded me of those nights.’

Hanzo fell silent, his eyes lowered to the floor off to the side of Zenyatta’s rug, unable meet his gaze. Zenyatta had been Genji’s teacher, and his friend; he had sewn him back together after Hanzo had sliced him up and left him for dead. He felt a surge of shame speaking of his meagre offerings of regret and mourning to Genji’s memory, while others – strangers – had cared and protected Genji as he should have done for years.

‘Do you wish to sit with me, for a while?’ Zenyatta asked, breaking Hanzo out from the thoughts that began to rise up in his mind in a dark, roiling tidal wave.

He blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. Zenyatta shifted to the side, leaving room on the rug for Hanzo to sit. After a moment hesitation, he stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him and sunk down into  _ seiza _ beside Zenyatta. He bowed his head, curling his hands into fists on his knees as his breathing slowed, dropping into the beginnings of a meditative trance.

‘Mondatta was my brother,’ Zenyatta said, breaking the silence between them. ‘Even beyond the Shambali, whom are all my brothers and sisters. Mondatta and I, we were built in the same Omnium; I suppose that is the closest equivalent we have to a human being born to the same mother.’

Hanzo stared at Zenyatta’s profile, listening in rapt silence.

‘I love him,’ Zenyatta whispered, his voice box crackling with pain. ‘I love him and I miss him beyond words, and there are times where I cannot stay surrounded by everything that reminds of him without it being too painful.’

Hanzo listened in silence, a lump catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer condolences or apologies that felt hollow and weak before he even voiced them when Zenyatta spoke again, halting his potential train wreck in communication.

‘You and Genji have been blessed with a gift,’ Zenyatta continued, turning to meet Hanzo’s eyes. ‘It is not a gift to fear. So rarely do we have a second chance to reconcile with the ones we have loved and lost. I see the happiness it brings my student to find his brother once again. His happiness brings me some peace, despite my own sorrow. You should not turn away from your own chance to find peace and happiness once again.’

Hanzo said nothing, his gaze dropping to the floor even as Zenyatta’s words continued to whisper in his mind, and the warm smell of incense enveloped them as they meditated side by side late into the afternoon.


	4. Revitalise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part four: touch

The storm rolled in unexpectedly, catching Hanzo off guard as he practiced in the field range behind the Watchpoint. The first drops struck his face as he drew the bow tight, distracting him; he held off his release, his gaze turning to the sky as the dark grey clouds stretched out across the blue and blotted out the late afternoons light. He narrowed his eyes, studying the rolling clouds as the wind whipped through his hair, tugging at his clothes and rattling the arrows in his quiver. More droplets pattered down on his head and shoulders with increasing frequency until the clouds burst and the rain rushed to the ground as a waterfall.

Hanzo grabbed his equipment and bolted across the field, slipping down the small hill between him and entrance of the Watchpoint. Already soaked to the skin in the short time since the rain had begun to fall and in a rush to retreat to shelter, he almost failed to see Zenyatta standing just beyond the Watchpoint doors, his eyes turned up towards the sky as the fat, heavy raindrops bounced off his face. He turned his head towards Hanzo as Hanzo slowed in his approach, and raised a hand in greeting to him.

‘What are you doing out here?’ Hanzo called over the wind, bracing himself against the freezing bite against his skin. ‘You will damage your circuitry.’

‘I appreciate your concern, Hanzo, but I am quite safe from the rain,’ Zenyatta replied serenely, turning his face back up to sky. ‘I rather enjoy it, actually.’

‘Then you’re less wise than everyone believes and more foolish than I first thought,’ Hanzo said with a snort, though it did not hold any derision. Zenyatta chuckled, lifting his hands palm upwards to catch the falling rain in his open hands.

‘Do humans not enjoy the presence of rain, after a long, dry summer? How it revitalises the land?’ Zenyatta queried, looking at Hanzo with his head tilted to the side in the bird like manner Hanzo had come to associate with him. ‘I have regularly heard them praise the sound of the rain against the window glass and the darkness of the clouds; even the smell that lingers in the air once the rain has passed, reminding the world it happened.’

‘Have you ever heard them speak of how delightful it feels to be trapped in a downpour unexpectedly?’ Hanzo asked, wrapping his arms around his chest as he began to shiver. Raindrops bounced off his shoulders and head, plastering his hair to his scalp, rivers cascading down the angles of his face. Zenyatta, oblivious or deliberately ignoring their equally waterlogged state, hummed thoughtfully.

‘No, I have spoken to anyone who has mentioned the desirability of being caught so fully in the rain.’

‘Because there is none!’

‘No? I find it incredibly enriching,’ Zenyatta remarked. ‘You can enjoy the smell and the sound of rain, but that is from behind barriers you put in place to keep it separate, away from you. You focus it to only one sense at a time, unable to fully experience it. Standing in the middle of it, there is not a single sense that it does not affect.’

‘Clearly it has affected your common sense the most,’ Hanzo remarked, shaking his head. ‘Most people don’t stand out in the rain because they don’t want a cold, and I imagine you don’t want to rust.’

‘I will not rust, and you will not catch a cold,’ Zenyatta reassured. ‘If we do, we will survive it.’

‘I would rather not take that chance,’ Hanzo replied. ‘Come, before we both drown.’

He side-stepped Zenyatta, shucking his bow and quiver higher on his shoulder, and grabbed Zenyatta’s hand instinctively to lead him back indoors. He took two steps before he met resistance, his arm pulled back behind him. Sighing, he turned to chastise Zenyatta again when his words died in his throat, following Zenyatta’s gaze down to their clasped hands.

They raised their heads to meet each other’s eyes in sync, frozen where they stood in silence. Hanzo felt his face flush, his fingers spasming around Zenyatta’s before releasing their hold entirely, turning away in embarrassment.

There was a brief moment where Zenyatta continued to hold his hand gently, completely still, before he too, relaxed his hold and their hands dropped away from each other.

‘I… I apologise,’ Hanzo muttered, his fingers finding the strap of his quiver to give him something to hold onto. ‘I will see you inside. Perhaps. Please be careful out in the rain.’

He hesitated, then cleared his throat, offering a small bow to Zenyatta. ‘Good day.’

He turned and marched towards the entrance doors. Wringing his hands around the leather strap of the quiver, he tried to ignore the sparks of warmth that tingled in his fingertips where they had touched Zenyatta’s, and the rapid beat of his own heart.


	5. Reverence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part five: taste

They had met like this for months now, meditating with each other away from the raucous of their teammates when they needed the quiet time alone with their thoughts and, it seemed, each other. Hanzo found himself looking forward to these moments with Zenyatta more often than not, the question of when their next meditation together would be, actively present in his thoughts. It was becoming increasingly distracting in his daily activities, yet the only cure for it seemed to be in Zenyatta’s presence.

Glancing out the corner of his eye, he studied Zenyatta as he meditated beside Hanzo, so close their knees almost touched: it would take no effort to reach out and place a hand on his knee, or shoulder, or even his cheek.

Hanzo immediately scolded himself for the thought, shaking his head to clear it and any other foolish notions it might conjure. He didn’t suspect for a moment that Zenyatta would appreciate the thoughts Hanzo was having increasingly often around him, much less entertain them. Yet Hanzo found himself hoping, occasionally, that perhaps Zenyatta wouldn’t shy away if Hanzo spoke honestly about Hanzo’s attraction for him.

He turned to look at Zenyatta fully, studying the smooth curves and lines of his profile; scratches and scrapes littered the chrome and gold, like old scars that told stories of Zenyatta’s battles. The lights on his head pulsed rhythmically, echoing a heartbeat. In the quiet of Zenyatta’s room, Hanzo could hear the clicking and whirring of his inner machinery, the soft hum of his processors. His meditation orbs circled his head, spinning on their individual axis.

‘You are staring.’

Hanzo jumped, and snapped his gaze away, heat rising in his cheeks as Zenyatta turned his head and looked at him.

‘Is there something on your mind, Hanzo?’ he asked, cocking his head to the side.

‘No, of course not,’ Hanzo replied quickly. He cleared his throat, glancing out the corner of his eye to see Zenyatta still watching him, before he averted his eyes again. ‘It is nothing. I apologise. I did not mean to interrupt your meditation.’

‘Hanzo. Please,’ Zenyatta insisted. He reached out, resting his hand on Hanzo’s arm as if it was second nature to him, they had become so close these past few months. His palm was warm, his fingers curling unobtrusively around Hanzo’s elbow, barely pressing against the skin. On Hanzo’s wrist, the dragon gazed up at them with bright golden eyes. ‘I sense there is something troubling you. I wish to help, if you would share your burden with me.’

He paused, studying Hanzo’s profile as Hanzo had studied Zenyatta. ‘I realise we did not begin on the best of terms, but I hope that I am not mistaken about our friendship—’

Hanzo cut him off, suddenly twisting around and leaning in close, his lips pressing against the cool metal of Zenyatta’s faceplate where his lips would be. He cupped Zenyatta’s jaw in one hand, his fingers curling around his slim cheek, pretending they didn’t shake. He kept his eyes open, watching for Zenyatta’s reaction, his heart thumping hard against his ribs.

Zenyatta sat motionless, staring at Hanzo in silence as he pulled back, their faces inches apart.

‘Oh,’ he finally said.

‘“Oh”?’ Hanzo snorted. ‘Is that… all you can say?’

‘It was unexpected,’ Zenyatta continued, tilting his head into Hanzo’s hand. ‘Although not unwelcome, but Hanzo, I cannot kiss as humans do. I fear it will not be very fulfilling for you.’

‘Would you like me to not do it again?’

Zenyatta contemplated the question for a moment, before he finally answered. ‘I believe I would not mind if you were to continue, although I am unable to reciprocate in the same way.’

Hanzo smiled. ‘Are you not the one who said that it is impossible to appreciate something with only one single sense?’

‘I don’t recall that is exactly what I –’

Hanzo cut him off again with a kiss, a smile tugging at his lips when he heard the crackle of Zenyatta’s voice box as he leaned into Hanzo. He stroked his hands up Hanzo’s arms, looping them around Hanzo’s shoulders.

‘I can hear how your voice box crackles and stutters when I kiss you,’ Hanzo whispered against Zenyatta’s cheek, peppering kisses there when Zenyatta hummed in response. His hand slipped down Zenyatta’s neck, over his chest to curl around his waist. ‘I can feel you shiver when I touch you, I can see your transcendence halo you when I am this close to you. You taste like electricity; I can feel it on my lips.’

Zenyatta sighed his name, drawing a hum of appreciation from Hanzo. His head tipped back as Hanzo pulled him closer, his arms tightening around Hanzo’s shoulders.

‘I thought,’ Hanzo continued, pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on Zenyatta’s hips. ‘I thought that if I told you what I wanted, you would tell me I was foolish, that I should come to my senses, but Zenyatta, you’ve invaded all of them. I cannot avoid you even if I wished.’

‘You are very candid today, Hanzo,’ Zenyatta remarked, stroking his fingers through the ink spill of jet black hair falling across Hanzo’s shoulders.

‘My apologies.’

‘Don’t be,’ Zenyatta replied, nuzzled the crown of Hanzo’s head affectionately. ‘I quite like it, and I find it true for myself; if I have claimed your senses, you have come to mine.’

Hanzo smiled, closing his eyes and burying his face in the crook of Zenyatta’s neck. He pulled Zenyatta closer until they were tangled together in each other’s laps, kissing Zenyatta’s neck and shoulder. Zenyatta stroked his hair, focusing his attention as Zenyatta enveloping them both in his soothing, golden aura until everything else melted away into the quiet of the afternoon.


End file.
